Razorblade Romance
by Aurora Enkeli Medeis
Summary: excerpt: This was no drunken mistake. I wanted you, needed you, and now I lie here craving you...HarryDraco, hate,craving,love: are they really that different ?
1. Wicked Game

notes: yet another story that is going somewhere unknown but give it and me a chance. The title is the name of a HIM album (my favourite by the way) so basically the concept for this will be a chapter for each song on the album ...at the moment anyways.

**disclaimer: I own neither characters nor this particular group of Finns **

_The world was on fire, no-one could save me but you  
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do  
No and I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you  
I'll never dream that I lose somebody like you _

**HIM: _"Wicked Game" _**_(Chris Isaak cover) _

Harry Potter lay on his bed in Gryffindor tower cursing alcohol, cursing Slytherins and cursing the infamous 7th year parties. One, of perhaps only two, benefits of acting completely delusional under the influence of the evil substance was being able to take no responsibility what so ever for your own actions. The other benefit was that it could almost be guaranteed that you would not remember. Unfortunately, Harry was reaping none of these benefits.

-------------------

I stare at the canopy above me, its crimson colouring lost in the swirling darkness. I try to sleep but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of last night. Mere moments of something longer is all they are but they feel more intense than a week's worth of dreams.

I chance lowering my eye lids another time, I'm beginning to wonder if I am in fact craving these sensations. I hear heart beats and raged breathing echoing around my ears. Soft lips press into mine as steady hands trace patterns on my lower back. My hands stroke soft blond hair as a tongue explores my mouth. A hand curves round my hip but my eyes snap open. This was no drunken mistake. I wanted you, needed you, and now I lie here craving you.

I pulled you aside today, away from all your serpentine minions. I grabbed your wrist and as soon as skin hit skin I knew I was gone. I tried to talk to you.

"Look, about last night..." Was how I began but forgot exactly where my statement was heading when I saw the look you were giving me. Your silver eyes stared back at me, masked, as if I were a total stranger in this stone corridor. I'll admit that you scared me then. I dropped your wrist and fled, although entirely aware of your eyes following me until I had disappeared from sight.

Never before had I seen you look that way. As much as you like to believe, and to a certain extent actually are, the cool, collected Slytherin, emotions hidden behind a steely facade, you never have been able to hide how you truly feel. For seven years your eyes have glowed with the utmost disdain and loathing whenever they looked my way. Today, however, there was nothing. What are you hiding from me Malfoy ?

I cannot be here any longer. I feel trapped beneath this duvet, constricted, bound. With an air of a creeping thief I remove myself from my cotton coffin and stuff my feet haphazardly into my trainers. I close the drapes behind me should anyone wake up. I take my invisibility cloak from my trunk as I breeze past and stealthily leave the dormitory.

On autopilot after so many nights spent alone roaming this draughty castle, I let my feet carry me from Gryffindor tower to wherever my subconscious draws me. How much time passes in this silence, ten minutes ? Thirty minutes ? I didn't know the time when I began this blind mans journey and so the fraction of eternity that I have wandered so aimlessly will go unchartered. Perhaps one day I will look back and wish I knew how long it took me to find myself before this painting on the wall of a dark, dead-end.

Inhaling deeply as my path ends I let the wet musk scent of my surroundings register in my brain allowing for recognition as to my current position in the castle. The portrait is that of a woman. Her dark hair flows sleekly to her waist. Black robes adorn her body as she sits regally on a throne of dark wood. Her eyes are the very shade of green on the Slytherin crest and a silver snake is coiled round her left wrist. I wonder who this formidable looking witch is as she acts so differently to the other paintings that decorate Hogwarts.

She, herself, barely moves, eyes blink and roam the corridor and chest moves in soft breathing. The snake flicks her tongue out, hissing and winding her way up her mistress' arm. Funny that my feet should bring me here when the very reason I was walking lies not far behind the painting.

The woman's eyes flick towards the end of the passageway and narrow at the sound of soft, approaching footsteps. I skulk back against the wall, awaiting the arrival of this fellow night walker. The person rounds the corner, an unfamiliar sensation writhes in the bottom of my heart as I see blond hair flowing behind a tall, slender frame. Seems we're not so different you and I.

I watch you coming along the corridor. Your pale face is set in a frown, silver blond brows furrowed in the middle. Candlelight casts shadows over high cheek bones, soft pink lips set in a gentle pout. You look confused ? Worried ? Sad ? With no one around there is no attempt made to hide what you are feeling. I try to make out the emotion showing in those flame lit silver eyes.

You grow nearer, I feel my hands itching to reach out and grab you as you pass. You stop in front of the portrait yet you do not utter the password. I watch you deciding a course of action, chewing slightly on your bottom lip. The woman in the painting begins to grow noticeably impatient. I could stretch out my hand to touch you just once, and it would be enough (or would I want to repeat the action ?). Tentatively I raise my hand, directing it towards your soft cheek.


	2. Resurrection

Anatomical note: yes I got rather technical biology wise (even though I have never done the subject in my life) so when referring to 'daith' it is the thick bit of cartilage on your ear in the middle that sometimes folk get pierced but shouldn't really just in case a nerve gets severed and the side of their face drops...anyway though I better tell you all in case.

_You kissed my lips  
With those once cold fingertips  
You reached out for me  
And oh how you missed  
You touched my face  
And all life was erased  
You smiled like an angel  
(falling from grace) _

We've been slaves to this love  
From the moment we touched  
And keep begging for more  
Of this resurrection

_**"Resurrection"**_

The velvet of the cloak skims your cheek. You jump away, staring blindly at where I am concealed. I know that you will never see me here if I so choose and this sudden power is intoxicating. You take a step (unknowingly) towards me. Heat resonates off your body, I'm close enough to see the single bead of sweat trickling down your temple. My desire begins to overrule the power-trip and, of its own accord, my left hand reaches out to your hip. It hovers above it as I contemplate the repercussions. No. Past, future and unforeseen circumstances be damned.

My hand cups round your slender hip, you body tenses in anticipation of attack. I do, in fact, execute a velvet barried kiss over your cheek. With the aid of the material my lips slide gracefully to your ear and softly I whisper.

"What is it you are hiding ?" Your body shudders as the syllables travel down your spine.

"I believe you are the invisible one here..." Pink lips curve into a knowing smirk, "Potter..." Your hand grasps the side of my cloak and with one swift pull it slips off onto the floor. I slip my hand round to the base of your spine, entwining my right hand through your blonde hair.

"What are you doing here Potter ?" You ask as if it were not blatantly obvious, the hitching of your breath betraying the need for a question. The reply should be simple, one word yet I have always stood by the belief that actions speak louder than words.

I pull you into me, hips against hips, noses barely touching. My eyes flicker closed and I drop my lips softly onto yours. The initial plan: be gentle, be slow but as the smell of your skin invades my senses the memories of last night that I had been trying to shake flood me. In the instant we touch I lose all control, rational areas of the brain giving way to the instructions of a particularly eager pituitary gland. From the way your hands are gripping the back of my head and the heat of your tongue as it laps at my top lip it would seem you remember too.

I part my lips, tongue meeting yours. Someone moans, I'm not sure who, it's possibly both of us, and I push you back against the wall. I pull out of the kiss and lean into you, attempting to return my breathing to a normal pattern. Your head droops a little, hair curtaining your pale face. I can feel you entire body trembling slightly beneath mine.

"Why are you here ?" You reiterate. I sigh, the expelled air brushing over your neck

"I already told you ...I want to know what you're hiding from me."

"Nothing Potter ...this is nothing and I am hiding nothing..." Liar. Your hands pull harder on my hair as if I should be able to know the true answer from that. It's not enough. I press my lips into your neck, tongue flicking across your pulse point.

"Tell me how you really feel Malfoy." Your grasp loosens slightly. I drag my tongue up the sinew of your neck. Self-control wavering you gasp, back arching ever so slightly off the stone wall.

"I don't feel anything." Liar. I reach your ear and latch onto the lobe. I nibble and suck slowly before flicking my tongue out as my lips come up your ear lobe.

"Tell me how you feel," I run my tongue over the daith, your moan vibrating against my chest "...Draco." I dip my tongue into the hollow of your ear, remember the whimper it caused you to emit last night. You squirm beneath my weight, letting out a quiet whimper as I work your weak spot.

"Gods," you moan "fine ...I remember everything from last night, as it would seem you do. I've been craving you ...all day just wishing I could wrap myself around you." I bring my face back to yours, staring intently into silver eyes. Your lips crash up to mine. I take your hands in mine and press them into the wall above your head as you suckle on my bottom lip, leaving it red and raw. With a force behind your lips you push my face from yours.

"But unlike you, I can control myself." Before your mouth can twist into the familiar sneer, my hands drop yours and I step backwards "Potter, this isn't anything more than tonight.".

I stand and watch as you push youself from the wall, making your way to the portrait. It swings open for you, leaving me in the dark corridor alone. Liar. You fled too quickly for me to believe you. There was effort behind not looking back that assures me all you wanted was to stay.

There's an inherent impossibility behind the workings of the heart sometimes. In a world where magic, potions and cloaks of invisibility are common place the fine line we tread between love and hate does not even warrant a second glance.

I touch a calloused finger to my partially lust swollen lip. A very fine line it is indeed.


	3. I Love You prelude to tragedy

_I see it in your eyes  
I feel it in your touch  
I taste it from your lips  
And baby more I love you _

Can't you see my darling  
That the harder I try  
The more we grow apart  
Please believe me  
The sweeter the kiss  
The colder turn your arms  
And the colder grows your heart  
And baby more I love you

**_'I Love You (prelude to tragedy)' _**

You swore that whatever it was between us was only for the one night.

The same statement was uttered the next night as you pulled from me.

Then the following night, the conviction of your words began to fade.

Then the night after that as you ground your hips into mine.

Then the night after that when I had you pressed against a wall near the Charms classroom.

So now my dragon we have had ourselves six separate encounters, one drunk and five sober so I feel I would be right in assuming you are not as eager for relations to cease as you first made out. I wonder why you are holding back. Life is short, you know that as well as I do. In the last year you've lost as many people in your life as I. Conveniently, family ties are not an issue for you any more. This isn't me being heartless, you care even less about your fathers death than I do. There is no war to keep us apart any longer.

Give in. Give in to the all-consuming lust. I don't care if you love me, I don't _need _you to love me. What I need with every fibre of my being is your arms around my neck and your long legs wrapped round my waist. What I crave is to see the way your silver eyes flutter shut when I take your lips in mine or the quiet mewling you make every time my tongue grazes over that particularly sensitive spot.

I pick the crust from my slice of toast, lost in my musings and hearing none of the random conversations that are happening around me. I don't feel much like eating this morning and the more I think of you, the more my frustrations grow. I'm frustrated at you for hiding in a pit of denial. I'm frustrated at myself for even entertaining ridiculous notions of my own deep-seated emotions. You are cold, uncaring ...yet so warm to my touch.

I audibly groan at my own idiocy, no wonder you mock Gryffindors so. I slam what fragments of toast remained in my hand onto the plate, causing a few goblets and pieces of cutlery to jump from the wooden table top. Without a look at my house mates I remove myself from the table, visibly storming from the hall.

Silently I pray that no one follows me. No such luck as someone fiercely grips my shoulder and spins me round. I am met with the very last things I needed to see at this precise moment in time: silver eyes. The gods really never do favour me do they ?

"That was some tantrum this morning Potter." The heat through me from the point on my body where he has grasped courses, and I pull away feeling as cold as the heart of the one who stands before me.

"Just ...just leave me alone Malfoy." I turn to walk away, his hand grabs my wrist before I have even moved thirty degrees: seeker reflexes. He takes a step towards me, face leaning into mine. I can feel his hot breath over my face as I instinctively lean into him, face tilting to the appropriate angle. His tongue flicks over my lips but before I can reciprocate he has moved his mouth to my ear.  
"There is an old classroom by Arithmancy, be there at eleven tonight." I think he is about to pull away but before he does his teeth sink viciously into my ear lobe. I hiss, pulling my wrist from his grasp. He smirks at me, knowing full well he has the upper-hand in this twisted little scenario.

I watch him retreat. The pounding in my heart slows and ceases, stopping at that confusion ridden plane that lies between hate and lust. I believe poets call it love.

_note: I realise it has been awhile since I updated and that this feeble attempt at a chapter does not compensate but I've been having some writers block in regards to this particular fic. So this is all I managed to get out but I know for sure that the next chapter will be significantly longer._


	4. Right Here in my Arms

Notes: I promised this chapter would be longer but even I didn't expect it to be over triple the word count of the other chapters! There is of course a slight modification to the lyrics, we couldn't have the words 'she' and 'her' now could we? And I know I said this would be from Draco's p.o.v. but I've actually changed the intented plot line for the entire fic so we are still in Harry's point of view.

Warning: slash of rather (ok very) graphic nature, you can of course skip it but well ...why would you ; ) oh and some adult language.

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"_He is smiling like heaven is down on earth_

_Sun is shining so bright on him_

_And all his wishes have finally come true_

_And his heart is weeping. _

_This happiness is killing him."_

'_**Right here in my arms'**_

--------------------------

There is nothing I can do to stop the small smile that creeps across my face now I know he is addicted. My smile widens: in a few hours I can feel him on me again. Frantic, kissing, biting, thrusting, moaning. This train of thought has crept upon me time and again today and it has done me no favours.

I sit staring impassively at my notes, attempting to take in any of the information what so ever but to no avail. Any time my brain even begins processing the information on some inconsequential Wizarding battle my focus shifts.

I can still feel Draco's breath on my face. My wrist still feels like it is burning from where he grabbed me. My body stirs in a way that is highly inappropriate for a History of Magic classroom as I recollect his sharp bite to my ear.

By some twist of fate the class begins packing up, providing me with a distraction. I stand, stuffing quills, parchment and books into my bag as my classmates battle to get away from the heavy, boredom laced atmosphere of the room.

I catch up with Ron and Hermione just outside the class and I lag behind a little as we walk up to Gryffindor tower. I'm excluded, it used to hurt and I will freely admit that but it is like they say: 'Two is company, three's a crowd.'

Now, however, there is something else consuming my thoughts other than the onset of loneliness at the gradual loss of my best friends. Before and during the war, people needed me, _everyone_ needed me. With the prophecy fulfilled I have no use any more. This isn't a bad thing.

No longer am I manipulated and the feeling is liberating. I can be human again as opposed to an instrument of war. With that came a sudden emptiness, Voldemort was gone, all links to my parents had been severed and Hermione and Ron had paired off: it was blatantly obvious that _no one_ needed me.

Things change though. Draco needs me. He denies it but I can feel it. The desperation of his actions when we meet is so apparent he may as well be screaming for me. Even in the pitch black of the night I can see the way his silver eyes darken with lust and desire.

Lost in my musings I don't notice that I've followed the crowds into the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione drop onto one of the couches together but I just keep on walking. They don't even notice. I suppose love will do that to a person.

I ascend the stairs to the dormitory slowly, hand trailing up the varnished oak banister. I do not feel the wood. Instead, I feel Draco's skin, unnaturally soft beneath my finger tips and so pale it almost glows in the dark.

Pushing the door open I feel my body stirring once more at the thought of being pressed against him in a few hours time. I drop my bag to the floor beside my bed and fall heavily onto the mattress. I stretch my arms above my head, eyes tracing patterns in the weavings of the canopy above my bed in yet another futile attempt to quell my desires.

I run through anything and everything: quidditch strategies, dates of Goblin rebellions, Transfiguration notes, even stooping as low as potions ingredients but my body stays persistent. I sigh, running a hand down my chest to stroke myself firmly through my robes and trousers.

A quiet moan escapes my lips as I speed up my actions. I bite down on my lip to silence myself but in my head I am shouting the same things over and over.

_  
Draco ...oh gods Draco ...yes ...Draco ...Draco._

It doesn't take long for my release, my hips lifting from the bed as I ride out my climax. I lie still, breath coming in shallow pants and I can feel a thin layer of sweat on my top lip and forehead. I sit up slowly, feeling a little light headed, as I fumble in my pocket for my wand. With a wave and a muttered word the unpleasant stickiness inside my boxers dispels.

I swing my feet round to the floor, getting to my feet gradually to avoid worsening my dizziness. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror: my cheeks are flushed pink and my hair is sticking up worse than usual. I should stay up here a little longer, at least until the flush dissipates but the sooner I go to dinner the quicker eleven o'clock will come. Keep busy: pass time is what I've told myself all day.

When I reach the hall I hear the familiar buzz of chatting voices. I make my way up Gryffindor table, deliberately walking between it and the Slytherin table. I see Draco look my way briefly, one blond eyebrow rising for a moment as he catches my appearance. He's seen me post-orgasm, he knows exactly what I was doing before I got here.

I take a seat between Neville and Seamus, across from Ron and Hermione, purposely sitting with my back to Draco. It is easier than avoiding staring.

Dinner goes unbearably slow, I join in conversation every so often. Neville talks animatedly about the intricacies involved in caring for the plants in his NEWT Herbology and I nod along. Ron and Seamus discuss the quidditch season so far and I try desperately not to drift into another blond Slytherin centred fantasy.

An hour and a half passes and I finally give up on eating and get up from the table. My original plan is to pass the next five hours writing my essay on the theory, history and uses of the Flame Freezing Charm. As I walk through the entrance hall, however, I feel the cool evening breeze blowing in and opt to do some laps on my broom instead.

I reach the pitch and make my way to the broom shed. As one of the four quidditch team captains I have my own key to the shed meaning I am breaking no rules as I bring out my Firebolt.

I unfasten my robes, shrugging them from my shoulders and they fall into a black heap on the grass. I mount my broom, air rushing through my hair and over my face as I fly upwards to the goal posts at the left end of the pitch.

I fly through the hoop, turning sharply to face the other way then speeding to the opposite end. The setting sun casts long pink and orange rays over the stadium, illuminating the stands. Before I reach the other posts I point my broom downwards in a sharp dive.

Wind pushes my hair from my face, fixing my t-shirt against my skin as the grass grows ever closer. I pull my broom level again, my feet skim the grass and I slow myself down. I curve round again, ascending as I do so.

The sun eventually disappears beneath the horizon and I am forced to dismount. I trudge back towards the shed to return my broom. Sweat trickles down my back, my mind feeling clearer than it has in days.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I make my way back up to the castle, wrapping my robes back around me in defence from the steadily chilling night air. I hear the clock in the courtyard chime, I count along.

Eight o'clock, three hours to go.

By the time I reach the portrait hole my mind has already wandered back to Draco. I wonder if I will make it to eleven without losing my mind.

Once in the common room I take a seat beside a window, gazing vacantly out over the grounds. Funny thing, desire. It drives even the most controlled people to foolish actions. I've thought and thought, over and over about what has happened between us. I come up with no answers, no solutions. Although it isn't surprising: I don't even know what I'm trying to get my head around. The desire that burns is strong and at times over powering. Lingering sensations of kisses ghost over lonely lips.

My every waking thought is consumed by the unshakeable urge to touch Draco then, when I fall asleep, my dreams are of his writhing naked form, begging me for more. Soon, I tell myself, soon.

With the slowness that it only ever has when you want it speed up, time passes by. I play a game of chess with Dean. I begin my charms essay. I read the Daily Prophet. I stare out the window. I grow noticeably irritable by the time half past ten rolls around, so much so that those Gryffindors left in the common room avoid even sitting near me.

I stare at the clock above the fireplace.

Ten thirty-five.

Ten thirty-seven.

Ten forty-two.

Ten forty-four.

I've reached my breaking point. I get up from the sofa, practically running up the stone staircase and into the dormitory. Neville's head jerks up from his book as the door swings open and hits off a wardrobe. I rummage around in my trunk, finally grasping the shimmering material of the invisibility cloak.

I am out of the dormitory as quickly as I entered, nearly slipping on the stairs in my haste. Once out of the common room I throw the cloak over me heading up the corridor towards my destination.

I reach a dead end where the Arithmancy classroom is and I look around for the old classroom that Draco designated. To my left there is a dark wood door, the handle is rusted and covered in dust. I push it open and it gives out a loud creak as it swings on its rusty hinges.

Before I go in a look back down the corridor, assuring myself that the noise didn't alert anyone. There are no signs of movement so I slip quietly inside.

The instant I am inside a jet of sparks fly over my head and the door slams shut. I then hear someone cast an Imperturbable Charm.

Out of the shadows I see Draco come forward, barely visible in the darkness of the room.

"Incendio." I hear him mutter. The torches on the walls ignite, casting an eerie glow over the old desk and chairs.

I pull off my cloak, tossing it onto a nearby desk. I stare across the room at him as he advances. His blond hair hangs over his face, silver eyes reflecting the orange glow of the flames. His robes are already open, a fitting black shirt and trousers that sit low on his hips visible beneath.

I feel like I should say something, do something. I'm hypnotised watching the subtle swing of his hips, his soft lips curving into a smirk. My breathing and heart rate increase. To be here after waiting all these hours doesn't feel real. I want to smile. I want to jump for joy. I want to take him on a desk but my body just will not move.

I watch his eyes sweep over me as he continues his slow walk. By the time he has looked down my body and back up he is walking towards me faster. His tongue flicks out ever so slightly to moisten his lips and finally my body moves.

I groan as I take three long strides forward, arms wrapping around his neck and our lips crash together. Draco throws his arms around my waist, moaning as my tongue runs over his lips.

His mouth opens, tongue meeting mine. We both moan this time and he pushes me backwards. As I think I may fall to the floor my back connects with the door, Draco's hips aligning with mine. I pull my mouth away from Draco's as he grinds into me and I moan louder.

His mouth attaches to my neck and without even a kiss, his lips part and teeth sink into my skin. He sucks on the skin as I thrust my hips to meet his again. He pulls off, breathing erratic as he moans into my ear.

I run my hands down his neck, palms pressing against his chest as I push him off harshly. He stumbles backwards, the small of his back colliding with a desk. The desk slides backwards a little, a high pitched scraping sounding through the room as I follow Draco, pressing my hips to his.

I kiss a path up his neck, tongue flicking over the flesh as I bring my hand between us to cup him through his black trousers.

"Oh gods ...oh Potter." He throws his head back and moans as I slowly squeeze him the same way I did to myself all those hours ago.

His hands fumble to get inside my robes. He pulls open the buttons of my jeans, hand plunging inside.

I buck my hips into his hand, groaning at the skin on skin contact. I bring my lips back to his, bending him backwards over the desk in a bruising kiss. I pull frantically at his belt buckle, finally pulling it open. My fingers work the buttons and zip until they are both undone and I reach inside.

I slide my hand past the elastic of his boxers, moving my fist in time with the thrust of our hips. His free hand grips my shoulder, fingers digging in and undoubtedly leaving bruises.

I twine my fingers through his hair, burying his face in my neck as the thrust of our hips and fists grow further more erratic. He licks at the tendons of my neck and I feel my climax building.

"Oh yes yes yes ...oh gods Malfoy, oh fuck Draco yes." He continues licking and biting my neck. I try to hold back but I feel my self-control wavering as his breath blows hot over my neck with his moans.

"Potter ...yes ...oh gods ...oh Potter." I speed up my movements, trying to bring his release before mine. With four whispered words in my ear I lose it.

"Come for me Potter..." I cry out as I climax, the sounds of my orgasm echoing off the stone walls of the classroom. Draco's long legs wrap around my waist as he sits on the desk, pulling my hips into him.

He thrusts upwards. Once. Twice. His hands slide around my back, fingers grasping at the material of my robes as he screams. He rides out his orgasm, face still buried in my neck.

He collapses backwards onto the desk and I fall down on top of him. Steadily my breathing returns to normal as beads of sweat roll down my face. I feel Draco's hands on my chest pushing me up.

I watch him shakily get to his feet, casting a cleaning charm and refastening his trousers. I do the same.

He releases the charms on the door as I pick up my invisibility cloak. Before he leaves the room he turns in the open doorway.

"This isn't anything Potter."

"Sure it isn't Malfoy." My tone is laced with sarcasm and anger flares on Draco's face. He steps forward, fist clenched at his side. I don't even duck when he swings.

His fist connects with my cheek, the pain stinging and causing my eyes to water. I stumble backwards from the force, looking up as he leaves the room.

"So I can expect to see you tomorrow?" He freezes in the doorway again and after an agonising moment he continues walking.

I run my hand over my cheek. He has been gone a fraction of a second. Already my body is hungering for more. Still he denies that he wants this. Still he tells me it means nothing.

I never knew nothing could feel so good.


	5. Join me in Death

Notes: It's been awhile hasn't it sweethearts? Sorry about that, I've been distracted by some other fics. But behold! A chapter and it is rather long (for me anyway) to compensate. Now we have the story being told from the point of view of the one and only Draco Malfoy. Just so you know: don't expect any nice thoughts about Harry from Draco.

Warnings: adult language, a little bit of violence and some heavily R rated slash now if that bothers you don't read the chapter, you have been warned._

* * *

_

_This world is a cruel place_

_  
And we're here only to lose_

_  
So before life tears us apart let_

_  
Death bless me with you_

'_**Join Me In Death'**_

* * *

I lie inside these green and silver hangings, covers twisted round my legs as my body writhes beneath my own hands.

"_Come for me Potter..."_

And he did. My hand slides over my chest: slick with sweat as I recall the way he pressed against me. The thrusting, the groaning and oh gods the heat of his hand around me. I try to simulate it with my own palm, the frantic fisting, and it feels good to lie here, imagining that it's him. But it's not.

I climax quickly, too quickly really. It's the thought of him that does it. The way his skin tastes on my tongue and the feel of him beneath my hands. There's something in the way his Avada Kedavra eyes try to see through me that is driving my wild.

He thinks he knows me. He knows nothing. I am addicted to the rush he gives me but somewhere in that little Gryffindor brain of his the lines of lust and love have blurred. How can he translate brief trysts in closets and empty cupboards as anything more than a primal urge between two people?

He wants me to admit that it means something to me. Well it does of course. It means release and fiery passion. An all-consuming pleasure that I crave and loathe in equal measure. That isn't enough for the boy-who-lived though is it? He needs me to feel, to love. I thought he would have known by now that Malfoys do not love. They take what they want and make it theirs. I cannot be blamed for Potter's ridiculous infatuation.

I turn over onto my stomach, velveteen covers slipping down my bareback. I let my eyelids droop heavily, the sound of Potter's moans acting as my lullaby.

I'm on my back, splayed across a plush mattress. The covers are red and gold, so disgustingly tacky it makes me want to set them alight. A body comes across the bed towards me. I can't see the person yet somehow I can. Bronzed skin, ebony hair and those forsaken eyes that send a person to heaven, hell and everywhere between. I can smell his sweat as he lies atop me. I am confused that I don't protest. His body moves in slow, deep languid movements against mine. He moans and whispers something that I can't quite make out. Then his lips are on my neck and I arch into the soft loving kisses. In an instant something new swims into my senses. A smell, like weak copper.

He pulls away and I can feel a trickling down the curve of my neck. I try to focus on his face but all my mind can fixate on is this liquid pouring down my neck and pooling behind my head. But it's not just pouring down my neck: it's pouring _from_ my neck. I can see blood on his face as he brings it to mine.

He kisses me, softly and sweetly and I can taste my own life on his lips. My eyesight grows worse; everything grows lighter until nearly the entire room is bathed in white light.

Now there is only him before me in a blinding light. I can see every curve of his face and the planes and angles of his naked body. He smiles at me as he fades away. I feel weakened, my breathing is shallow and my back and shoulders are now covered in blood. My blood.

I can hear a buzzing but that isn't right. What could be buzzing? I turn onto my side slowly and my vision flows back into focus.

An alarm. My alarm. I sit up quickly, hand fastening around the side of my neck. A dream was all it was. Potter bled me to death in a dream, that doesn't feel like something I should analyse to deeply.

I scratch the back of my head and smooth my hair back down before I throw my covers of completely. Slowly I pull back the curtains to discover, to my great delight, that my roommates are still asleep. I hate dealing with people in the morning. Especially mornings when I've just been murdered in my dreams.

I stand up from the mattress, pulling my pyjama bottoms up from where they had slipped down my hips. I rummage around for a towel before making my way quietly out the dormitory to the showers. It is early enough for no one to be there for which I am thankful.

Slytherin house is often viewed by outsiders as not only a house of evil witches and wizards but also a house of perverted, overly kinky sex maniacs. They are right. Hence my joy at being able to take a shower alone without Blaise's eyes sweeping over my wet, naked body.

I open the door to the showers and click it closed behind me, locking it in case anyone else happens to awaken early. My pyjama bottoms slide off easily and drop to the floor in a black, silken pool at my feet. I step onto the tiled floor, my bare feet slapping lightly against the polished ceramics.

I turn the shower on full, the room filling with steam quickly. I turn round to let the powerful spray connect with my back, working out the knots in my spine and between my shoulder blades. Taking a step backwards the water falls onto my head, soaking my blond hair.

I take my own shampoo from the shelf, pouring it on my hand and then lathering it up through my hair. By the time I have lathered and rinsed twice the smell of jasmine envelops the room.

Next I take a bar of silver soap from the holder, running it over my body as shimmering foam leaves long trails across my skin. I put the soap back, running my hands through the suds in order to remove any traces of lasts nights activities and the sweat from my dream.

I stand under the hot spray for a few more minutes, my skin turning red from the sheer heat of the water. Turning the shower off I walk back over the tiles, being careful not to slip. I wrap a thick green towel around my waist and head towards the mirror. It whistles appreciatively as me as I comb through my hair, making lewd comments when I dry off my chest. I roll my eyes: even the Slytherin mirrors are perverts.

I make my way back into the dormitory where my roommates are rolling out of bed looking decidedly grumpy and dishevelled. I sidestep them and their wide mouthed yawns and search my trunk for a pair of boxers.

The other inhabitants of the room leave for a shower, giving me peace to get dressed. A quick rummage through my trunk and I'm dressed. I throw my robes over my black trousers and shirt, stuffing my feet in my shoes and casting a drying charm on my hair. It falls loose and soft over my face, the perfect way as I've already seen Potter's reaction to it: the first morning I walked in the hall he bit his lip and blushed furiously. There is something so perversely erotic about having that much power over someone.

I sweep out the dormitory and down the stairs into the common room. The only inhabitants are three paranoid, work-a-holic fifth years. It is only eight forty-five on a Saturday after all.

I stalk through the common room, commanding attention as I make my way to the portrait hole. It swings open for me and then smashes closed behind me. Stalking through the dark corridors and up several flights of stairs I eventually reach the entrance hall.

May morning sunshine streams in the open double doors, a perfumed late spring breeze blowing in. Sweeping into the Great Hall my eyes automatically scan the Gryffindor table even though I know he won't be hear this early.

I've watched him for years now, assessing his weaknesses, monitoring his habits: trying to find anything to use against him. I don't need to do that anymore. I've got something so much more powerful.

I throw one leg over the bench, swinging the other round as I land gracefully on the wood. I pour myself a large mug of coffee (black) and sip the steaming liquid slowly. Within ten minutes the hall begins to fill steadily, some more Slytherin seventh years gathering around me. Crabbe and Goyle sit down across from me, Blaise taking up position on my left and striking up a conversation. The two oafs stuff their faces as I ignore Blaise, all my concentration on the doorway.

Finally, after fifteen minutes and two slices of toast he comes in, flanked on either side by the other two thirds of the Golden Trio. I keep my eyes focussed on him, willing him to turn round. As he sits down at the Gryffindor table his eyes dart subtly over to where I am seated. I drop my eyes and look through my hair at him, a look on my face that decidedly says 'Come hither'.

My body reacts appropriately (or inappropriately given the setting) to the way he flicks his tongue over his bottom lip. The beauty of Potter is his naivety. Every little sordid thing he does still holds an air of innocence that I would so love to remove. To be the one to finally break that golden side, oh the thought sends chills down my spine and heat to my groin.

I stand up from the table, stepping gracefully over the bench and making my way out the hall. I don't need to turn round to feel his eyes on me and there is no need to listen to hear him excusing himself from breakfast.

I reach the entrance hall and veer right towards the open door. I get half way down the steps before I am grabbed at the wrist and hauled backwards down the stairs and round behind a wall.

Potter pushes me against the wall, isn't this switch. He presses his hips into mine, hardness obvious beneath his robes. I raise an eyebrow challengingly at him.

"Eager are we?" I drawl. He smirks and grinds into me.

"No more so than you." Unfortunately true.

"Well sorry to disappoint you Potter but I have somewhere I need to be." His face drops but he brings his hands up, palms splayed flat of the wall above my head.

"No you don't."

"Oh I beg to differ." He brings his chest against mine, lips only inches from my own. My well-practised self-control wavers considerably as his breath ghosts over my face.

His eyes flick down to my lips, eyelids fluttering closed. He lowers his mouth gently onto mine. This is not how this situation normally goes. He has never been so soft.

I kiss back, trying to strengthen it. He won't allow it.

He brings his hands down onto either side of my face, holding it in place and preventing me from crashing my lips fully to his. His mouth opens slowly, tongue flicking lightly over my bottom lip. I part my lips and he slides his tongue in.

He moans into the heat of my mouth as my tongue slips slowly over his. I will indulge this gentility for now and perhaps be more brutal later when the tables are turned.

His lips move lightly over mine, hips beginning to move gently against my own. He pulls away but not before placing another soft kiss at the side of my mouth. He keeps his face just above mine.

"Ready to admit it yet _Draco_?" I put my hands on his shoulders and push him harshly from me. So that's what that kiss was about.

"For fucks sake Potter," I spit at him "I knew you were thick but I thought even you would have latched onto the fact that you don't mean anything to me." Stupid Gryffindors.

He steps back towards me, anger burning in his eyes.

"Are you too scared to admit it Malfoy? Worried what people what say if they discovered that _the_ Draco Malfoy had a heart? Haven't you been able to accept the fact that even though you may still have your fortune the once great name of your family means shit?"

Playing the rough card, how very Slytherin of him. I push him again, this time he loses his footing and falls onto the grass.

I sneer at him as I stand over him. Before I can pass comment about how easily he went down he has yanked the front of my robes and pulled me down on top of him.

I think I can already see where this fight is going to end up.

He flips us over and he straddles my waist, aiming a fist and the side of my face. It connects with a loud smack and I wince as my cheekbone throbs. I throw up my fist but he catches it easily and pushes it back onto the ground.

Leaning over me I can see the hatred on his face but there's something else, something I can use to my advantage.

Love.

Perhaps he thinks I don't know. It is plainly obvious.

I bring my head just a little from the ground to press my lips into his. He moans again and grinds his hips downwards. I lay my head back down and he follows as I nip his bottom lip and thrust upward a little. I groan as I bite down on his lip harder causing him to emit a low hiss.

His tongue comes from between his lips and I open my mouth eagerly. It slides inside once more, hot and tasting of mint as it caresses mine. I thrust harder up towards him, upsetting his balance. I take advantage of this and flip him onto his back, sliding easily between his parted thighs.

I move my lips to his neck, planting wet kisses up towards his ear.

"Malfoy…" I run my tongue around the shell of his ear as I roll my hips downwards. "Oh fuck Malfoy …no…wait…" I kiss back down to the hollow of his throat and dip my tongue inside.

"Oh gods …no, we need to …oh fuck do that again …we need to go somewhere else."

I stop my slow, rolling thrusts at the realisation that Potter is, for once, right about something.

I get (reluctantly) to my feet, dragging Potter up by the hips with me. I am addicted, that I can admit. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his lips painfully into mine as I begin walking backwards.

My back connects with another wall of the castle and I break away, turning to look round the corner that we have reach. As I peer round I feel Potter's lips attack my neck, hot and violent, nipping the skin a little as his head lowers.

"Oh gods." I moan as he slips opening the top fastening of my robe. I try to move us further from sight but he has me pinned to the wall securely by my waist. He pops open the first few buttons of my shirt and dips his tongue inside, running it along my collar.

He bites the skin, sucking on it softly.

"Potter …you're the one who oh gods …who said we had to move …oh fuck yes…" he opens a few more buttons and brings his lips down to ghost over my nipple. He laps at it with his tongue.

"Mmm, I know but…" he begins to say, his voice muffled against my skin "but I can't stop."

I don't want him to. He rips the rest of my shirt open, several of he buttons popping off. He drops to his knees in front of me, fingers gripping tightly into my hips. I groan as he runs his tongue down my abdomen.

"Oh gods, then don't stop…" He brings one hand from my hip to work open the top button of my trousers. It opens and he slides the zip down slowly, fingers then opening the slit in my boxers.

He leans his face forward, tongue flicking inside against my hard flesh. I arch my back off the stonewall and he does it again. He buries his face in me planting kisses on my hot skin but his administrations stop.

As I am about to protest when I hear the reason why.

Voices flood from inside the entrance hall and I swiftly kick Potter off. He falls backwards as I re-fasten my trousers and pull my robes closed over my exposed chest. I sweep round the corner, walking backwards as I smirk at Potter.

"You better get up and come finish what you fucking started."

He lets out a noise that sounds like a growl more than anything else as he springs up. That must be where the symbol of a lion for Gryffindor came from.

I turn the corner and dart away as fast as I can in my 'condition'. I reach a part around the back of the castle that faces the lake. There are no windows on the walls and I spot a cluster of bushes not so far away.

I make my way quickly towards them, the sound of Potter's running footsteps coming towards me. As I reach the edge of what appears to be some sort of secluded garden, arms wrap around my waist and knock me heavily to the ground.

Potter straddles the backs of my thighs and hebends his head down. He pulls my hair gently from the right side of my face, giving him access to my ear, which he precedes to nibble on. I try to turn over but his weight is too much on me and I'm stuck.

He slides down my back, placing kisses on the cloth-covered skin as his hands glide sensually down my sides. My spine shudders, every sense heightened.

He runs his hands up my back and cups them around my shoulders. He lifts himself up a fraction, allowing him room to turn me over.

I am not entirely happy about being on my back. He wedges one leg between mine, forcing them open and slipping easily between.

Robe and trouser-covered hardness meet and we both moan.

I lift my head to his and crash our mouths together, the force of his kiss knocking my head back against the ground. He grinds his hips down into mine as he slides his tongue in my mouth. I thrust upwards, hands running down his back to cup either cheek of his ass.

I grip him hard, pulling him roughly down into me. He breaks the kiss and groans, face dropping to my ear.

"Malfoy …oh gods yes Malfoy." I turn my head ever so slightly to meet his face, taking his bottom lip between my teeth. I bite down hard, the skin breaking and a few droplets of a metallic tasting substance dropping into my mouth.

He brings his back over mine but I keep my teeth locked securely around his lip. I pull his hips down again and he moans as he tears his lip from my teeth.

He presses his lips to my neck, frantically kissing and sucking at the pale skin. His thrusts grow just as frantic and one of his hands slips into my robes and past the material of my open shirt.

He pinches at a nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

"Oh fuck Potter yes …oh gods harder …faster …fuck." I begin to babble incoherently to him.

He willingly obeys. His movements grow hard and fast in just the way I asked of him. He groans and moans into the skin of my neck, murmuring incoherent words. I still want the control in spite of our positioning. I can feel my own climax building but in every one of our little meetings I have not given in first, today will be no different.

I try to get out the words I have already used a few times but my mind is left blank ashe licks the skin of my neck and bringshis lips to my ear.

"Come for me…" he whispers "_Draco_."

I surrender and give in to the sensations that have been growing. My orgasm hits me and I arch my back, pulling Potter as hard as I can into me.

His back stiffens as he moans and rides out his own climax. He collapses in a sweating, shaking heap on top of me. His voice is shaking but I can hear him whispering a mantra over and over in my ear.

I choose to ignore it. I push him off with what little strength I actually have left. I lie still, one arm over my face as the material of my robes absorbs the beads of sweat from my forehead.

I stand up slowly, legs shaking beneath me.

"Potter," I begin but he cuts me off.

"Yeah yeah I know 'this means nothing'," he snaps angrily as he gets up "what the fuck is your problem with actually admitting that you feel something?"

I roll my eyes as I straighten my robes.

"I. Feel. Nothing." I state as if speaking to a child "Why does it mean so much to you anyway? You fucking hate me, or did you forget?" he takes a step towards me.

"I don't hate you, didn't you notice?"

"Well you should."

I turn on my heel and storm away, smoothing my hair back down.

Potter should hate me. After everything I've said and done he now wants me to admit that I feel something. Well I don't and neither should he.

A thought strikes me and I smirk as I climb the stairs into the entrance hall. It shouldn't be too hard for him to hate me again…


	6. Poison

**Notes:** Sorry this took me so long sweethearts but I have had so many issues with this fic but for some reason I was spurred into writing it today. We are back to Harry's PoV in this chapter, it won't be a happy one …not that any of them are but the angst will be getting heavier as of this chapter, you have been warned. The song, yes, is 'Poison Girl' but really- what use are girls in a slash fic?

_  
"The fire in his eyes__  
__Grew dim and then died__  
__As the poison inside__  
__Reached his heart_

_  
And the coldest bliss__  
__Faith ceased to exist__  
__As we grew apart__  
__Like never before"_

**_  
Poison Girl_**

I don't hate Draco. Really, I don't.

I don't really hate Malfoy either. They are two different people you see. Malfoy struts through corridors, sneering, mocking and terrifying younger pupils- Draco fits himself between my parted thighs and thrusts, bites, kisses and licks until we both moan and scream.

There is a part of me that hates him, Malfoy that is- every time he says he feels nothing and denies what I have felt burning in him I just want to break those aristocratic cheekbones. Then, of course, he touches me and suddenly he becomes Draco and then I'm on fire. I can drown in him every single time he crashes his lips to mine. He will bring me to climax and vice versa but then …he leaves.

Is it so simple for him just to walk away? Doesn't he lie in bed, night after night, dreaming of having his hands on me?

Perhaps that's all it is to him- sex, a lust so all consuming that neither of us can go a day without fulfilling our urges. Hence the fact that I am steadily counting the minutes until I see him tonight. It is hard to lie to my friends every time I disappear for hours at a time and return yawning, stretching my muscles and very often appearing flushed. Well …at least it _should_ be hard. I'll sometimes feel guilty when I make my excuses to leave the common room and make my way to where Malfoy and I are meeting. Then he looks at me and slowly I crumble. Then he kisses me and everything crashes down, leaving only us in the entire world.

Sometimes I even contemplate _not_ going but it is a silly notion- a ridiculous fantasy born in moments when my sanity and mind are my own. Those times don't last long- I belong to him now.

I told him I didn't hate him any more and it seems to have become his mission to force me to hate him. Harsh words, not just directed at me but at Ron and Hermione, insults that range from wealth and blood status to hair. Yes- hair. How can one person be so intent on causing hatred that that is the level they steep to?

Through the corridors to the Great Hall we are walking; Ron on my left and Hermione on my right. They are arguing over the top of my head about Merlin only knows what. Hermione asks my opinion but I have spotted a head of blond hair and am no long capable of a coherent thought.

Malfoy spots us out the corner of his eye and stops abruptly in his tracks, turning to face us with both his cronies in tow.

"The Golden Trio, how delightful." He drawls sarcastically. I can already feel Ron tensing beside me and Hermione getting ready to quickly diffuse the situation.

"I don't know what your problem has been the last few weeks _Ferret_ but why don't you just bugger off?" Ron spits through clenched teeth.

If only he knew the reason, what a conversation that would be.

"Now now _Weasel_ calm down," the feigned pleasantry in his voice sets me off and I can feel that burning desire to punch him in his pointed face, "_Potter_ has more manners than you and _you_ had some parental guidance on that front."

Ron clenches his fists at his side, ready to jump to my defence with force if necessary. Forever the loyal Gryffindor best friend …these are the times I hate lying. Really, I never would have made that good a Slytherin.

"At least you Weasel haven't caused the deaths of everyone you call family, Potty here can't say the same so I suppose his manners aren't really that important are they?"

I can feel my face drop, my teeth unclench and my eyes relax. I don't even know how to react to that. He is right. Oh gods how he is right. Is this my punishment? Has everything that I've done wrong that caused people so much pain finally come back to haunt me? As if constantly being reminded of all those families torn apart and all those lives lost wasn't torture enough. Karma, I believe that is what this would be called.

Malfoy looks at me, smirking, mocking, and knowing exactly how hard his comment has struck me. Probably not as hard as Ron is about to strike him though.

Hermione steps behind me, wrapping a soft but stern hand around Ron's right wrist. He turns to her and frowns but she shakes her head and Ron knows that her silent words are true. Crabbe and Goyle have already stepped partially in front of Malfoy so any attempt at physical violence now would be utterly futile. The three Slytherins turn on their heels and enter the Great Hall, leaving us standing in the Entrance Hall, a small crowd that had been waiting for the inevitable explosion finally dispersing. Ron wrenches his wrist from Hermione's grip and storms into the hall; apparently I missed a conversation between them as I stared at the space where Malfoy had stood. She gives me a brief shake, waking me from whatever daze I was in and gives me a worried, motherly look. I simply smile at her reassuringly, not quite trusting myself to speak. She squeezes my shoulder and ushers me into the hall.

This is what I'm paying the price for- not costing the lives of those I held dear but lying to those that are still alive. Perhaps I should end it. What am I saying? Of course I should. Maybe tonight- I chant it over and over in my head as we sit down at Gryffindor table.

Maybe tonight. I can feel eyes on me.

Maybe tonight. I give in and look to the owner.

Maybe tonight. Silver smirks back at me.

Not tonight. Am I completely powerless.

Dinner at the Gryffindor table is an angry affair this evening as Ron frantically tells our dorm mates about Malfoy's words. I poke and prod at some kind of food that sits on my plate. I'm not really hungry and I won't taste it anyway. Everything tastes of Malfoy. Everything smells of Malfoy. Everything _is_ Malfoy.

All too soon people are getting up to leave. Hermione wants me to study, Ron wants me to play chess, Draco wants me to suck him off. It isn't a hard choice to make. I wave them off, using the excuse that I'm not finished eating. They both look at my full plate and nod. How convenient that on tonight of all nights I choose not to eat. In essence I am not lying to them.

I watch them leave, noticing Malfoy smirking at me as my eyes come back across the hall. He stands up gracefully, removing himself from the Slytherin table and leaving the hall. I drop my fork to the plate. I was lying after all. Lying to myself, lying to my friends- who in the hell knows the truth when even _I_ don't?

As I come into the Entrance Hall I catch a flash of blond hair and a sweep of black robes as Malfoy heads down the stairs into the dungeons. I follow quickly, checking that no one is around to see me diving into the dark depths of the dungeons.

Once again I see a glimpse of him as he turns a corner and I follow, trying not to lose him and, by default, myself in this torch lit labyrinth beneath the ground. Corner after corner I match his pace. Left, right, right, right, left, left. It is a wonder we haven't gone full circle. Finally I hear and see a door slam shut half way down the darkest corridor yet. In another life I probably would have been scared of the dark down here, that fear of what could be hiding in any corner creeping over me. Somehow, I can't find myself to care. Deadly spiders could scuttle out from the corners and sink their fangs into my ankles and in all honesty I wouldn't be that concerned as I died on the cold stone floor. Although I would be sad to miss how people would explain Harry Potter turning up dead in the dungeons. I almost snort as I near the door- I can see the headlines now: 'The Dark Lord Couldn't Get Him But The Spiders Did'.

Slowly I turn the handle, taking in a deep breath of stale dungeon air before pushing the heavy wood open and clicking it shut behind me. The room is in pitch-blackness. There are no windows to allow in shafts of setting sun. There are no flames that burn in torches or on the wicks of candles. There are no shadows because _everything_ is a shadow.

I hear footsteps coming towards me on the dusty floor, the odd piece of something crunching under foot. I don't want to begin to think about what sorts of things are lying around, rotting and decaying in this room. I am pushed back against the door, a strong hand on each shoulder. Before I can even question if this is actually Malfoy, lips are on mine, pressing hard and moving over my own.

It isn't Malfoy. It is Draco.

My mouth opens at Draco's insistence and my arms wrap around his neck. His hands slide up and down my sides, running over my chest before slipping up my neck. I gasp and pull from the kiss, turning my head to the side and resting my face against the door. The bittersweet way he places a soft trail of kisses up my neck weakens my knees and I am convinced I will slide to the floor. The tenderness of his lips, the soft caresses of his hands are so new, so foreign. I want to surrender but there is that nagging voice in my head telling me he is up to something. All I want is to accept that something has changed. His mouth comes to my ear; lips fastening softly round my ear lobe before his breath blows hot and warm, sending shivers through my bones.

"Do you hate me yet?" Nothing has changed it would seem.

"No." I answer simply and he near growls in my ear. I feel him grab my wrists, pinning them above my head and digging in his nails. His face is near mine, I can barely make out the contours of his cheekbones but the tip of his nose brushes mine.

"Well it is about time you did," I don't like the dangerous note in his voice, "get it into your head that you are nothing to me. In fact you are nothing at all." He moves his lips back to my ear, "all you were good for was getting rid of the Dark Lord. Now you've done that we have to find something else for you to be good for." I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Is he right? Is this all I am good for now? I fulfilled the prophecy, that was what I was born to do so what is left for me? A life of unwanted hero worship? What kind of life is that?

Draco steps backwards, dragging me with him. He hits a desk and climbs up onto it, bringing me to stand between his legs. I feel his fingers twine themselves in my hair and he fiercely pulls my face to his.

"Thought of anything yet?" I nod, knowing he will feel the movement in his hands. "Good." His hands force me downwards and I drop to my knees on the floor. I run my hands up his thighs, pulling open his robes and undoing his belt. My hand brushes over the bulge in his trousers and I pull down the zip. His back arches ever so slightly, a low groan escaping his lips as I pull him from his boxers. It is an entirely bizarre sensation- knowing what is in front of me yet not being able to see it.

"Have you realised it yet?" I nod slowly, "Will you admit it?" I swallow heavily, the corners of my eyes tingle slightly as I open my mouth.

"You hate me." I whisper, flicking my tongue over him briefly. He shudders before speaking again.

"I didn't quite catch that."

"You hate me." I repeat louder before flicking out my tongue again. Draco moans and lifts his hips a little, spurring me on.

I put my mouth round him as a tear slips from my right eye. He hates me. Malfoy hates me. Draco hates me. This is all I am worth- on my knees in a pitch-black, dust-coated classroom. I have been a fool. I shouldn't be shocked should I? Every thing Draco says about Gryffindors must be true. I was naïve to think that he would ever feel anything other than a burning lust.

The taste of his skin on my tongue and the feel of him beneath my hands are intoxicating. I need him more than I need air. I spend every waking moment craving him and when I sleep I dream of the way his face contorts in ecstasy. He doesn't feel and oh how that kills me but I won't end it. I can't. My whole body burns for him and to go even a day without his touch would surely end me. Perhaps I am being melodramatic.

Just because he hates me now doesn't mean he always will. I have realized it but that doesn't mean I have to give up hope…

**  
Notes:** Hope that was almost worth the wait.

**Added Note:** As you may have seen, is clamping down on people with lyrics in their fics. Several of my stories have been deleted and quite frankly I have had enough of this site! From now on I'll be updating only on hpfandom(dot)com under the same penname as I am here. If you wish to be contacted about updates drop me an email and let me know. Also, if you have just had an email telling you about a 7th chapter, that was actually just me accidently adding a chapter instead of replacing the content of chapter 6. Sorry about that if it did happen sweethearts, a few glasses of wine and I'm a hazard I'm afraid!


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